Harry Potter and the Doubted Identity
by MichiRini
Summary: The night before Harry Potter goes to Hogwarts as a firstyear, Harry uses Nutriderm Plus to make his scar go away. Now none of the students or teachers believe he's really Harry Potter! I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER! This is easily my worst fanfic ever...
1. But you haven't got a scar!

Eleven-year-old Harry Potter was excited when he finally managed to cross the barrier onto Platform 9¾. He was glad to be going to a school where Dudley and his mates couldn't get to him and use him as a punching bag, but for the past few weeks Harry had been nervous about coming to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: what would the other students be like? What classes would he have to take? What was the school like? Would he still have to take normal classes like social studies and science? And most importantly, would the other kids like him and accept him?

That last question had worried Harry so much over the past few weeks that Harry could hardly keep himself away from his bathroom mirror. Every time he saw himself in that mirror, he saw every physical flaw suddenly enhanced: the back of his hair wouldn't lie flat; there were random freckles on his cheeks; and most of all, that lightening-bolt-shaped scar on his forehead. That scar had bothered Harry the most, until finally Harry decided to use Nutriderm Plus twice a day on the accursed scar, and within two weeks the scar had disappeared. The back of his jet-black hair still stood up, but Harry was much happier now that his scar was gone. He looked like he hadn't taken a knife to his forehead as a kid, at least.

Now as Harry boarded the Hogwarts express with his scar-less forehead, he searched for a compartment. All of the compartments seemed to be full until Harry found an empty one near the back of the train. He stowed his trunk in the overhead compartment and sat down next to the window, positioned so that he would be moving backwards when the train took off and he could watch the Dursely home disappear into the distance.

The door to Harry's compartment suddenly slid open, revealing a rather tall, red-headed eleven-year-old boy. "Do you mind?" the red-head asked. "Everywhere else is full."

"Not at all!" Harry said eagerly, gesturing towards all the empty chairs in his compartment.

The boy stowed his trunk and took the seat across from Harry, introducing himself. "I'm Ron. Ron Weasely. And you are…?"

"Oh, Harry. Harry Potter."

Ron did a double take. "Did you say 'Harry Potter'?" he asked curiously. When Harry nodded, Ron started trying to get a look at Harry's forehead which was hidden by a great deal of his bangs. Failing, Ron just decided to ask straight out. "Do you have a scar?" he asked?

Harry smiled and shook his head, lifting his bangs for Ron to see the clear skin. "Not anymore," he said proudly.

"Well then you _can't_ be Harry Potter!" said Ron. "Harry Potter has a lightening-bolt scar on his forehead from when You-Know-Who tried to do him in as a baby!"

Harry smiled again and shook his head. "I used a Muggle ointment to make the scar go away," he explained. "I didn't want to show up on the first day at a new school with a scar on my forehead."

"There's no way the Muggles would ever be able to make something like _that_," Ron insisted, crossing his arms. "Who are you really?"

Harry was stunned. He hadn't known his scar was proof of his identity! Was every witch and wizard identified by some bodily flaw? Harry thought. But that doesn't seem right… Then again, Harry thought, Hagrid did constantly look at my forehead when he came to give me my invitation to the school…

"I really am Harry Potter!" Harry insisted.

"Fine," Ron said angrily. "Lie to me about who you are. I don't care." Then, changing the subject, he asked, "So what house do you think you'll be put in?"

"Erm… house?" Harry asked, confused. He had been under the impression that they were going to a school!

"Wow, mate, where have you been living?" Ron asked curiously.

"With my Muggle aunt and uncle," Harry explained.

"Still going on with the 'I'm Harry Potter' bit, eh?" Ron stabbed, but then explained about the houses anyway. "We'll be staying in houses, or dormitories. They're kind of like teams; you go to classes with the people in your house, you can join the house Quidditch team, you eat with your house. But you also do things with other houses."

"What houses are there?"

"Well, there are four of them. I think Hufflepuff's a bit of a joke. Nearly everyone who comes out of Slytherin turns out to be a dark witch or wizard… even You-Know-Who was in Slytherin…. Ravenclaw's okay, but I want to be in Gryffindor. My whole family has always been in Gryffindor so I don't know what I'll do if I don't get in…"

"I don't know which house I'll be put in. How do you even get put into a house?" Harry asked nervously.

"I don't know," Ron said, now nervous himself. "Fred and George—my two older brothers—told me you have to wrestle a troll, and how well you do determines which house you get put into. But I don't think that's true because then there would be a lot less students, don't you think?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed, still miffed that Ron wouldn't believe him about his identity.

The train started moving. The two boys spent the whole train ride talking about where they'd come from—although Ron still didn't believe Harry when he said he was Harry Potter, and therefore didn't quite believe that Harry had grown up with his Muggle aunt, uncle, and fat cousin—and their worries about the school. Sometime during the ride, the door to the compartment slid open once again, this time revealing a girl with extremely bushy hair.

"Oh, hello," the girl said, distracted. She was looking at the floor and behind the boy's legs to see behind the seats, searching for something. "Have either of you seen a toad? Neville lost his and I'm trying to help him find it…" Then the girl seemed to actually notice the boys for the first time and said, hands on her hips, "You two had better get into your robes. I spoke to the conductor and he said we're almost at the school."

"We're getting to it!" Ron said hotly. "We don't need a girl to tell us what to do?"

"Oh you don't, do you?" the girl said defensively. "Well, obviously you do, so I'll just sit here until you two put your robes on."

"No way!" Ron said. "You're a girl! You can't sit in here while we put our robes on!"

"Have you even seen your robes?" the girl asked. "You just put them on over your clothes."

Ron muttered something about his robes being second-hand, as if it explained his not knowing that the robes went over his clothes. "So who're you?" he asked while pulling the black robe on.

"I'm Hermione Granger," the girl said. "And you must be a Weasely; I ran into some of your brothers while I was looking for Neville's toad, and you look just like them. And you…" Hermione turned to look at Harry, who had finished putting his robes on and was sitting next to the window again, next to Hermione. "I don't think I know you."

"I'm Harry Potter," Harry introduced, hoping this girl would help Ron realize who he was.

"But you can't be!" Harry's bubble of hope broke when Hermione spoke those words. "You don't have a scar!"

"What is it with people? Why is everyone so obsessed with that bloody scar?" Harry shouted, annoyed. "I _had_ a scar, but I got rid of it with a bit of this Muggle ointment: Nutriderm Plus."

Hermione began examining Harry thoroughly, as if she wasn't quite sure she believed him. "Where do you live?" she asked suspiciously.

"I live on Privet Drive with Muggles: my aunt Petunia and my uncle Vernon, and their son Dudley!"

"What about your parents?"

"Well, my aunt had always told me that they had been killed in a car accident, but then when Hagrid came and brought me my invitation to Hogwarts he told me that they had been killed by this dark wizard named—."

"You _are_ Harry Potter!" Hermione exclaimed.

"You believe him?" Ron asked, eyebrows raised. "How can you believe him?"

"Well," Hermione began, her tone implying that she was beginning a rather long explanation, "he says that he lives with his aunt and uncle, who are Muggles. Also, he says that he has always been told that his parents died in a car crash and no wizard would say that because half the witches and wizards our age don't even know what a car is. And then he mentioned Hagrid, who I read is the gamekeeper at Hogwarts, so if he actually knows Hagrid and Hagrid really did tell him how his parents died, then he would have to be Harry Potter, wouldn't he?"

"Erm," Ron said, thoroughly confused. "If you say so…"

Hermione left the room, suddenly remembering that she was supposed to be helping Neville look for his toad.

"She's a weird one," Ron said, buttoning his robes.

"I don't know," Harry said. "She actually believed me."

"You can't blame me for that!" Ron exclaimed. "All my life it's been the Great Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, with his lightening-bolt scar as his trademark. You can't blame me for not knowing who you are. It's _you_ who went and used that Muggle ointment."

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Harry mumbled, not so sure about it anymore. "Do you know any ways to make it come back?" he asked Ron, hoping the boy would know a spell or two that could make his scar return.

"Sorry, mate," Ron said as the train came to a full stop. "The only spell I know is one Fred and George taught me, and it doesn't even work."

The two boys got off the train, following the half-giant Hagrid over to a long dock that held a lot of small boats tied to the shore. Harry and Ron paired up with Neville and Hermione and rowed across the lake to the school. When they made it across the lake, Professor McGonagall met the students in the hallway outside the Great Hall. She welcomed all of the students to Hogwarts and asked them to wait outside until the rest of the school was settled and the teachers were ready to begin the sorting ceremony. After a few tense minutes, Professor McGonagall came back to the students and told them to follow her up to the front of the Great Hall, where a three-legged stool held a tattered wizard's hat.

The hat sung a funny little song about the four houses of Hogwarts, describing the students in them. When it was finished, Professor McGonagall took a long scroll and began reading names down the list. Hermione Granger was put into Gryffindor house, and the list when smoothly until—"Harry Potter!" cried Professor McGonagall.

Harry stepped forward, aware that everyone in the Great Hall was now trying to get a look at Harry's forehead, and sat down on the three-legged stool. Professor McGonagall put the hat down on Harry's head and Harry heard the kids near the front of the Great Hall muttering, "But that _can't_ be Harry Potter; he hasn't got a scar!"

"Ignore them," a voice said, the same voice that had sung the song: the Sorting Hat was talking to Harry! "You _are_ Harry Potter; I can see it in your mind… now let's see… yes, you've got the right sort of characteristics that would thrive in Slytherin House…"

"No!" Harry muttered. "Not Slytherin!" Harry didn't want to be a part of a house that turned out mostly dark wizards. "Not Slytherin!"

"Not Slytherin, you say?" the Hat asked. "Well, then, I shall put you in GRYFFINDOR!"

There was a tremendous amount of applause from the Gryffindor table while Harry went to take his seat, but the applause came to a sudden halt when he sat down, and the whole table seemed to wave with whispers: "That's not Harry Potter…"

Harry flattened his bangs over his forehead, trying to hide the bare space of skin that stretched across it, and wished that his scar would miraculously reappear there. The rest of the sorting continued as usual, and Ron ended up sitting next to Harry after the hat placed him in Gryffindor.

Professor Dumbledore made a speech welcoming the students back to school and warning them against going into the Forbidden Forest—_Go figure_ Harry thought, _Who would have thought we were allowed to visit the FORBIDDEN Forest?_—and from going up to the third floor corridor. This drew a lot of attention because apparently the students had been allowed to visit the third floor corridor in previous years. While everyone was talking about this strange news, Harry looked up at the staff table and looked at all of the teachers. Two of the teachers—one with greasy hair and another with a weird turban on his head—sat talking together. The one with greasy hair kept glancing at Harry throughout the meal. The one with the turban, like the other teachers, just ignored Harry.

Throughout dinner, Harry found himself constantly being interrogated by his fellow students. It seemed that, without his scar, no one believed that Harry really was Harry Potter. They began to call him all sorts of names, from "impersonator" to "traitor". The only ones who would stand up for Harry's identity were Ron and Hermione. Harry mentally reminded himself to thank them later.

Percy, the prefect in charge of making sure the Gryffindor first-years knew where they were going AND another one of Ron's older brothers—apparently Ron had five older brothers, two of whom had already left Hogwarts—led them to the Gryffindor common room and showed them where their dormitories were. Harry and Ron raced three other boys—named Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, and Neville Longbottom—up the stairs to the first-year boys' dormitories. They chose beds and began setting up their stuff.

"So when are you going to tell everyone who you really are?" Dean asked, tacking a stationary photograph of a Muggle football (in America, that would be soccer) team to the wall. "I mean, there's no way you're _really_ Harry Potter."

Harry shrugged, too tired to get into this game again and knowing that there was no way he could convince Dean or any of the other boys—who were undoubtedly thinking the same thing—of the truth within the next hour. Instead, Harry lied down and shut the curtains around his four-poster bed and went to sleep, glad to hear Ron explaining—using Hermione's words, verbatim—the reasons why Harry really was Harry Potter.


	2. I HAD a scar

"But Professor—!"

"I'm sorry, but if you fail to tell me your actual name I will be forced to give you detention!" Harry looked helplessly down at Professor Flitwick.

"Sir, I'm telling you the truth," Harry persisted. "My name is Harry Potter, my parents were Lily and James Potter, I only just found out a few days ago that they were murdered by—."

"That is quite enough, young man!" the tiny professor squawked at Harry. "Off to Professor Dumbledore's office with you!"

"Professor!"

"Out, young man!"

An incredibly rude blonde boy in the back row—a Slytherin—drawled, "I'm _sure_ he's Harry Potter. Him and every other boy who participated in that competition!" All of the Slytherins in the classroom erupted into laughter.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Professor Flitwick chastised. "If you can't control your tongue, I shall send you to Professor Dumbledore's office as well!" Malfoy shut his mouth at this, but continued to give Harry an angry glare.

Harry saw Ron and Hermione smiling at him supportively as he walked out the door. When he got out into the hallway, Harry realized he didn't know the way to Professor Dumbledore's office.

_Well, one thing's for sure,_ Harry thought, _I'm not going back into that classroom to ask where Dumbledore's office is!_

Harry began aimlessly wandering the corridors, stopping in every boys' bathroom he came across, hoping to find someone who could tell him where Dumbledore's office was. There was no one in any of the bathrooms that Harry came across, and the hallways were deserted; Harry was lost and alone in Hogwarts.

Harry jumped when he heard the sound of cackling laughter coming up from behind him, and turned to find a rather devilish-looking ghost about to yell into his ear. Harry yelled out, not used to ghosts sneaking up on him.

"Now who might this be, that screams at poor Peevsie?" the ghost cackled, delighted to have caused Harry some alarm.

"I didn't scream!" Harry protested.

"Whatever the little student says," the ghost said, unconvinced. "Would you like some gum? Two nice Weasley's gave Peevsie this gum!"

_Two nice Weasley's…_Harry thought. _Ron's a Weasley, but I'm pretty sure there's only one of him… he's got twin brothers though, Fred and George._ Harry tried to remember what Ron had told him about Fred and George, finally remembering that they were tricksters. And for this ghost to be calling Fred and George "nice"…

"You're a poltergeist!" Harry figured out.

"Excellent deduction, my wee little student! And who might you be?"

"I'm Harry Potter."

The poltergeist cackled harder than ever. "But you can't be Harry Potty!" the ghost announced, blowing a loud raspberry. "If you were Harry Potty, you would have a most sightly blemish on yon forebrow."

"Er, do you mean 'forehead?'" Harry asked, not quite sure what the poltergeist was trying to say.

"Aye, little laddie o mine!"

"Well, I _had_ a scar," Harry began explaining, "but—."

"PEEVES!" Professor McGonagall had poked her head out of the classroom. "Which first-year are you terrorizing now? Get away from the boy, Peeves!" When Peeves decided to give Harry a wet willy instead of leaving, McGonagall raced down the hall, drawing her wand as she came. "Peeves, how many times have I told you to leave the students alone?"

"Would you like me to count each individual occurrence, or give you an estimate?"

"_Peeves…_"

"Twelve this week," Peeves said proudly. "And it's only Monday! Just imagine what tomorrow will bring!"

McGonagall looked murderous while she considered what to do with Peeves. Finally she seemed to settle on something. She looked at Peeves and said threateningly, "If you don't leave this boy alone right now, I am going to call Dumbledore down here and have him get you to stop. Or perhaps…" Now McGonagall was waving her wand through her fingers in a hypnotic way, as if she was insinuating something with the action. "Perhaps the Bloody Baron would like to come and sort this out…"

Peeves's eyes widened with the threat, but he didn't look afraid. He stuck out his tongue as he zoomed off into the distance.

"Professor McGonagall?" Harry began. "I wasn't trying to get into trouble. I was just looking for Professor Dumbledore's office… Professor Flitwick won't believe me when I tell him my name and he wants me to see the headmaster to get the truth. Where is it?"

McGonagall looked Harry over with a slightly analytical look on her face, as if she was taking Harry's measure. She looked Harry in the eyes and said, "You know, Mr. Potter, you look exactly like your father… except for your eyes; you have your mother's eyes."

Harry was slightly stunned for a moment, but then he realized what this meant. "You believe me?" he asked, slightly incredulous.

"Of course I do, Mr. Potter. The Sorting Hat would never have sorted you if you weren't the real Harry Potter." McGonagall pointed back the way Harry had come. "Now get back to your Charms lesson. And tell Professor Flitwick that I have full confidence in your identity as Harry Potter, and so does the headmaster."

Harry hurried back to his classroom, happier than he had felt since the train ride to Hogwarts. How he managed to find his way back, he had no idea. All he knew was that someone—someone influential—believed him. And if that someone was right, then that would mean that the headmaster himself even believed that Harry was who he claimed to be.

Now if only he could figure out what that Malfoy kid had meant about a competition…


	3. You don't have one now

The Malfoy kid looked disgusted when he read the note Harry had passed him in Potions class. He gave Harry a confused look but picked up his quill and wrote a response anyway, passing it covertly to Harry as soon as Professor Snape's back was turned. Harry read the note:

_You know what competition I was talking about, POTTER. Stop being so dense. _

Harry picked up his own quill and dabbed it into his ink well, replying:

_I honestly have no clue what you're talking about! What competition? When was this competition held? What do I have to do with it?_

Harry passed the note to Malfoy, earning himself a disapproving glance from Hermione. Harry knew that Hermione would chastise him for this later; he had learned that she was a stickler for rules and studying only within this first week of school. She was always the one to answer the teacher's questions, except in Potions—Snape seemed to mysteriously go blind whenever a Gryffindor hand was raised—and she constantly got on Harry's and Ron's backs when they put off their homework.

When Malfoy returned the note, Harry read:

_That Harry Potter look-alike competition that took place a few months ago, idiot! Are you the winner, trying to prove that you can pull off actually BEING Harry Potter?_

Harry scribbled back:

_Of course not! I didn't even know there was a competition about me! Am I really that famous?_

When Malfoy read this note, he gave Harry another disgusted look. He hurriedly scribbled his reply onto the small piece of parchment and passed it back to Harry.

_You are not famous. You are not the real Harry Potter. You are an imposter. If the real Harry Potter was here, he would be ashamed to know that some kid is parading in his place. If I were you, I would sincerely hope that the real Harry Potter doesn't come to Hogwarts. _

Harry stared disbelievingly at the parchment. Noticing that there was no more room on the original parchment (Harry had not expected this conversation to last much longer than "What competition were you talking about when I was sent out of Charms?"), Harry tore another bit from his Potions notes.

_But I am the real Harry Potter. I used to have a scar but I used this Muggle ointment on it and now it's gone. Why don't you believe me?_

Harry tried to pass it to Malfoy but as soon as his hand passed the front of his desk, Professor Snape grabbed the parchment out of Harry's hand.

"What do we have here?" Snape asked, looking down at the parchment. "A note? From a Gryffindor to a Slytherin? This seems interesting…" And with that, Snape opened the folded parchment and read its contents to the attentive class in a mocking voice. When he was done, Snape crumpled the parchment in his hand and looked menacingly down at Harry, who had sunk down into his seat under the _I-told-you-so_ gaze of Hermione Granger. "While there is no doubt that you look somewhat like how Harry Potter would," Snape began, his gaze turning somewhat analytical, "there is no way you could be the true Harry Potter." Snape turned back to the class, which was laughing softly.

"And why not, sir?" Harry asked tentatively. "Why couldn't I be Harry Potter?"

Snape turned back to Harry and gave the boy another critical look. "For one thing, there is the lack of a scar," Snape began his review of Harry's appearance. "Harry Potter has a scar on his forehead, a souvenir from his infant brush with the Dark Lord. For another thing, you don't quite look like how I would imagine the son of James and Lily Potter would. You're hair is too deep a black color to be James's, and your eyes are more of a forest green than the emerald green that was Lily's. Your physique resembles neither of them; James's shoulders were broader and he had more muscle, and Lily had a small yet sturdy build. You, on the other hand, are small and scrawny. The prescriptions of the lenses in your glasses are too small to be real, you can tell by how they don't quite magnify the size of your eyes.' Snape scoffed at the student he was scrutinizing. 'You are no more Harry Potter than I am the Dark Lord.'

Harry immediately stood and raised his wand at the greasy-haired teacher, yelling, 'PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!" as loud as he could, using the only curse he knew to put his teacher into the Full-Body Bind.

But the Bind was never put into effect, since immediately after the words had left Harry's mouth Snape had raised his own wand to return with, "Protego!" The curse was deflected harmlessly off of the Shield Charm, but the Potions teacher looked murderous. "TWO HUNDRED POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR AND A MONTH OF DETENTIONS!" Snape yelled, his face a deep purple shade. "FOR ATTACKING A TEACHER!" Snape took several deep breaths before saying in an overly-soft voice, "It seems I was mistaken; only the child of James Potter would have attacked someone in that way. You may take a seat, _Mr. Potter._"

Harry remained standing, his face pale. "Sir," Harry tried to explain. "You said that I was no more Harry Potter than you are Vol—I mean, You-Know-Who—so I panicked. V—You-Know-Who killed my parents and I—."

"_Take a seat Mr. Potter!_" Snape hissed. "_Or I will add another month's worth of detentions to your punishment!_"

Harry immediately sat down, aware of the many eyes that were now focused on him. The eyes that Harry took the most notice of, however, were Malfoy's. His gaze seemed slightly more… accepting?... than it had when Harry had been trying to convince Malfoy of his identity when they were passing notes.

The rest of the class progressed without incident; they finished taking notes on the properties of the Shrinking Solution and left when the bell tolled the end of class. Outside the door, Harry found Malfoy waiting for him.

"You really are Harry Potter?" Malfoy asked uncertainly. "The Boy Who Lived?" Harry nodded and Malfoy looked uncertain for a moment. "Sorry for doubting you," was all he said before turning to retreat, two very large boys falling in behind him.

"What did he want?" Ron asked curiously, watching the disappearing backs with some disdain. "To mock you for your 'fake identity' again?"

Harry shook his head before turning to his friend, a small smile beginning. "You know, you first mocked me when I told you who I was," Harry reminded the red-head, who immediately opened his mouth defensively. Before he could get the words out, though, Harry interrupted him: "Come on! We've got to get to Herbology!"


	4. I got rid of it

_**Author's Note: **I never intended to make this fic into a series; it began as a one-shot about Harry not having a scar and the difficulties he would have convincing everyone of who he really was, but then I got three people who put this story on alert, so I kept writing for those people. Thanks so much to houguilter, SweetSmiles, Tina1587, and elven-jewel-18 (who didn't put it on alert but that was only because I print the chapters out for her and my other school friends to read). I have gotten an alarming response to this fic (430 views! WOW!) but NO ONE HAS REVIEWED! It is for this reason that I have decided to make this the final chapter of **Harry Potter and the Doubted Identity**... unless I can get some reviews! PLEASE REVIEW! I HAVE PLANS FOR THIS FIC BUT I WANT TO KNOW THAT PEOPLE ACTUALLY LIKE IT SO I KNOW I'M NOT WASTING MY TIME ON THIS FIC! If enough people review, I have decided to carry this fic all the way through Harry's first year. Again: PLEASE REVIEW! _

Θ Θ Θ

For the next two months, Malfoy seemed a bit bi-polar in the way he acted towards Harry. Sometimes Malfoy would stand up for Harry, other times he would make fun of him to the other Slytherins. Harry began to wonder whether Malfoy was actually his ally or not… surely an ally would stand up for you no matter how abysmal your Shrinking Solution turned out to be…

_Well,_ Harry thought, _at least Professor Dumbledore's managed to convince all of the teachers that I really am Harry Potter…even if none of the students believe me yet. _

Despite the whispers of "traitor" and "imposter" that seemed to follow Harry no matter where he went, Harry seemed to be doing well in all of his classes. Only Professor Snape seemed to have a problem with him, singling him out to answer impromptu questions about things the class hadn't been taught yet, test his potion on a plant or stray animal, or just as a target of general torture.

On the other hand, there was one teacher that Harry couldn't get out of his head: his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Quirrel. Although this teacher had been the one with the weird turban on Harry's first day at Hogwarts, the poor guy couldn't utter a single sentence without stuttering. Because of this, no student ever really took him seriously; the only student to really take notes in his classes. But Harry's issues with Professor Quirrel seemed to go beyond his stuttering; whenever Harry was around the teacher, his hand would immediately fly to his forehead, as if instinctively preventing pain from starting there. But this didn't seem normal, since Harry had never gotten a headache in Professor Quirrel's presence… so why did his hand just fly to his forehead like that? Did the thought of another Defense Against the Dark Arts class just make Harry want to slap himself?

Harry was telling Ron and Hermione about his strange reaction to the insecure professor on their way back to the corridor one slightly chilly night in November. "Why do you think that keeps happening?" Harry asked his friends, hoping for some insightful reasoning from Hermione.

However, Hermione had no insightful advice to give. She just shrugged and said, confused: "Maybe you just instinctively don't like the guy."

"So I cover my forehead?" Harry asked disbelievingly. "Somehow I find that unlikely."

Ron stopped walking suddenly, a look of inspiration on his face. "I've got it!" he said loudly, a big grin starting to stretch across his face. "Maybe…" But then Ron's face fell. "I lost it. Sorry, mate." Ron's face turned red when his two friends started laughing hysterically at him.

A loud _meow!_ ended the laughter, and the trio looked up to find Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, glaring at them from across the corridor. The three were out of bed past curfew, Madame Pince having just kicked them out of the library after a long night of studying—Harry and Ron having been dragged into it by Hermione. Knowing what would happen if Filch caught them out of bed past curfew, the three of them ran blindly towards the staircase, going up towards the seventh floor. When they got to the top of that flight of stairs, the group found themselves on the third floor and would have continued running up the stairs if they hadn't heard Filch's voice calling for his precious cat—coming right down the stairs they needed to ascend!

Harry pulled Ron and Hermione down the forbidden corridor, trying to hide in one of the classrooms. All of the doors seemed locked until Hermione ran to a random one and, pointing at the handle, whispered "Alohomora!" The door unlocked magically, allowing the three friends to hide in the classroom, shutting the door soundly behind them.

They were just panting their relief, even starting to laugh a bit, when Harry felt the strong wind on his back. _There shouldn't be wind in a classroom,_ Harry though apprehensively, turning around to see a giant, three-headed dog sniffing the three intruders. Harry patted Ron and Hermione on the shoulders, bringing their attention to the giant animal in front of them. The three imperiled friends watched the dog (or was it dogs?) sniff them curiously, until, raising its head in a growl, it decided that the three were not friends.

"AHHHHHH!" Harry screamed, vaguely hearing Ron and Hermione's voices intermingled with his own. Harry opened the door and yanked his friends out of the classroom, shutting the door firmly on the nose of one of the heads of the gigantic creature inside. Not caring if Filch actually caught up to them or not, the three ran up the stairs to the portrait of the Fat Lady, yelling the password ("FORBANNELSE!") to gain entry into the common room.

"What was THAT?" Harry yelled as soon as he had crawled through the portrait hole.

Ron took Harry and shook him. "What _was_ that? That was a three-headed dog, Harry!"

Hermione stopped Ron from shaking Harry to death and stood between them, one hand on a shoulder of each of her friends. "We already know _what_ it is," she told them in a fairly sensible voice, considering how badly she was trembling. "What we need to be asking is what it was guarding."

"_Guarding?_" Harry and Ron shouted at their friend. "What makes you think it was _guarding_ something?"

Hermione looked at each of her friends in turn, giving them stern looks. "Honestly, don't you two look anywhere but at what's right in front of you?" The faces of the two boys went blank, and Hermione knew they hadn't understood her. "The dog was standing over a trap door!" she told them in a frustrated voice.

For a moment the two boys stood staring at Hermione, before Ron, brushing Hermione's hand off of his shoulder, said in an unconcerned voice, "That's ridiculous, Hermione! Why would anyone want to guard something with a three-headed dog at a school with Dumbledore as a headmaster?" Hermione tried to respond with what looked to be a long-winded explanation, but Ron interrupted. "Well, I'm going to bed now. See you both in the morning!" And then Ron ran up the stairs to the boys' dormitory.

Harry stayed down for a moment, covering a yawn. "So what do you think it's guarding?" Harry asked Hermione after the yawn had ended.

Hermione took her hand off Harry's shoulder and stretched, bringing her arms all the way back until her shoulder blades prevented them from going any farther, and answered tiredly, "I have no clue. I'll do some research tomorrow, but I don't know what I'll find with a search criteria of 'three-headed dogs guarding trap doors in classrooms.'"

Harry laughed and wished his friend good-night, telling her that at least she had been observant enough to notice the trap door in the first place. Hermione beamed at this and hugged her friend before going upstairs to the girls' dormitory. Harry ascended to the boy's dormitory and, not even bothering to change into his pajamas, lied down to go to sleep. _I'll think about all this tomorrow,_ Harry thought before his dreams pulled him towards images of penguins clog-dancing to Ron's paper harmonica music.


	5. Come on, who are you really?

Harry couldn't believe what had happened. A few weeks ago, Professor McGonagall had recommended to Oliver Wood that Harry join the Gryffindor Quidditch team as the house Seeker. Wood had taken Harry reluctantly, but once Harry was on the team Wood had trained him vigorously, honing the boy's skills until they were as perfect as they could be for the first match of the season: Gryffindor versus Slytherin.

The match had been a close one until Harry had caught the Snitch, boosting the Gryffindor score by 150 points to win the game. For the first time, Harry seemed to be accepted by all of the Gryffindors. He had been riding on the shoulders of his teammates when a woman in magenta robes had come asking to perform an interview for the Daily Prophet.

Harry looked down at the woman before clambering down off of Fred and George's shoulders. He went with the woman, who introduced herself as Rita Skeeter, into the very edges of the Forbidden Forrest, where no one would notice them unless they were looking closely at the outer trees of the forest. When they finally took seats on a log, Ms. Skeeter took out a notebook and a green quill, sucking on the tip of the quill before balancing the quill by its tip on the notebook.

"Now, Jonathan," Rita began before being cut off by Harry.

"Erm, my name's Harry, not Jonathan." Harry looked at the quill, noticing that the quill moved quickly when either person spoke. "Harry Potter."

Rita shook her head, sending blonde curls flying everywhere. "Of course you are, dear," she said, yanking Harry's attention back to the woman questioning him. "I'm sure that our readers would love to know how you convinced the entire Hogwarts staff that you are Harry Potter, something almost impossible to accomplish, especially considering your lack of a scar."

Harry looked at the woman, wondering why the readers of the Daily Prophet wanted to know this kind of information. "Um, I guess Dumbledore believed me, and Professor McGonagall believed me, so the two of them convinced the rest of the teachers." Harry watched the quill take note of his every word before remembering, "Except for Snape; he believed me because he said I'm like my dad. But he said that only after I said something I shouldn't have, so I'm not sure if he honestly believes me or not."

Harry read what the quill was writing after his quote: _Jonathan Falso, winner of the Harry Potter Look-Alike Competition held in early June of this year, gives reporter Rita Skeeter an evil glare. His bottle green eyes, so much like the true hero's, narrow as he is informed that all of the wizarding world knows exactly what he is up to in his attempt to fool everyone into believing that he is the actual Boy Who Lived, the one and only Harry Potter. _

"But that's not true!" Harry protested, gesturing angrily at the parchment notebook. "My eyes are narrowing because you're writing lies!"

The quill took these words down verbatim while Ms. Skeeter continued the interview. "Ignore the quill, Jonathan—."

"_Harry!_"

"Yes. Ignore the quill. What do you think is the biggest hurdle you've faced in convincing everyone of your false identity?" Ms. Skeeter looked genuinely interested in Harry's answer, but Harry could only look at what the quill was writing:

_At this the boy, only eleven years of age, seems to lose his temper. He glares at the reporter, invoking his right to remain silent—evidence that he is indeed Jonathan Falso, the American award-winning imposter. The reporter reminds young Mr. Falso that he is not in the United States, and the boy—_

"I am not an American!" Harry exclaims, looking angrily from the paper back to the reporter. "My name is Harry Potter, I have always lived in England, and until this past summer I had thought I was a normal Muggle!" Harry strode off for the castle, but he was followed the whole way by the continually questioning Rita Skeeter. The reporter only backed off when Professor Dumbledore met Harry at the doors to the school and demanded that she leave his students alone unless she had permission from the headmaster to interview any of them.

A week later an article was published in the Daily Prophet. The front page was taken up by a lengthy interview between "Jonathan Falso, the Shame of the Wizarding World" and Rita Skeeter. Harry read the article with Ron and Hermione, his temper rising as he read the lies published there. Over three quarters of the article had never happened; Rita had never asked Harry about "his true life," and Harry had not responded with anything like the foul curse words that had apparently "gushed from the young boy's mouth like blood from a punctured heart of truth." Harry hadn't even read halfway down the page before ripping the newspaper out of Ron's hands to shred it into tiny pieces and throwing them into the nearest goblet of milk, causing Parvati Patil to yell at him about his rudeness for both parading as the biggest hero the world has yet to see, and for ruining her perfectly good milk.

All throughout that day, Harry was approached by people who taunted him, and not once did they ever use his real name. From that day on, Harry was known to the students of Hogwarts as Jonathan Falso, the Shame of the Wizarding World.


	6. I'm Harry Potter!

"Professor McGonagall," Harry looked up from his Transfiguration textbook to see Professor Dumbledore standing in the classroom doorway. "I was wondering if I could possibly borrow young Mr. Potter for a moment." Not waiting for Professor McGonagall to reply to the headmaster, Harry began packing up his school bag. "No need, Harry," Dumbledore assured with a smile. "The Minister of Magic just wants a quick word."

Harry paled. What could the Minister of Magic want with him? Considering how the rest of Harry's year seemed to be going, Harry was willing to bet that the Minister was not here to have tea. Nevertheless, Harry stood and followed the headmaster through the many corridors of Hogwarts, stopping when they reached a stone gargoyle.

"Harry, I want you to know that I am proud of the way you have handled yourself for the past few months," Dumbledore said softly, turning to face Harry. "You've made some wonderful friends; your performance in Quidditch is superb; you're doing well in nearly all of your classes—," here Harry's face flushed, remembering all of the help he'd been getting from Hermione, "—and you still have found time to research important wizards like Nicholas Flamel."

Shocked, Harry looked up into Dumbledore's knowing face. Harry began to stutter, "Professor, Hagrid didn't mean to—!"

"What is that, Mr. Potter?" the headmaster asked, his knowing face now one of confusion. "I seem to have forgotten what we were talking about… lemon drop?"

Harry was stunned when the stone gargoyle jumped up and out of the way of the now separating wall, while at the same time Dumbledore offered Harry a yellow Muggle candy like everything was normal. Harry declined the candy, unable to take his eyes off of the walls that had separated to reveal a moving staircase onto which he was ushered by the gentle hand of Albus Dumbledore.

Harry and Dumbledore rode the stairs up to a wooden door with a silver knocker attached to the outside, which Dumbledore opened to reveal a portly man with a lime green bowler hat. Almost as soon as Harry stepped into what had to be Professor Dumbledore's office, Harry found himself held captive by the portly man.

"How dare you!" the portly man demanded angrily, looking up at Harry's blank forehead. "How dare you mock me, and the rest of the wizarding world, with your presence here? Go back to where you came from you ungrateful little—!"

"Cornelius!" Dumbledore yanked the angry Minister off of Harry, his face furious. "I must ask you to not manhandle my students!"

"Dumbledore, you can't seriously believe that this imposter is the actual Harry Potter! Look at his forehead! Do you see a scar there? No? That is because this is not the real Harry Potter!" Cornelius Fudge, the British Minister of Magic, turned back to Harry, making sure to keep his hands to himself this time. "How dare you make a mockery of the boy who saved us all? What made you think you could succeed in this charade? What are you going to do when the real Harry Potter turns up? I'll bet that boy, young as he is, knows a hell of a lot more spells than you could ever hope to learn in your entire life!"

Harry had had enough of this man. Trying to keep his voice at a polite tone, Harry addressed the Minister. "Sir, I find that hard to believe considering I _am_ Harry Potter. Ask me anything and I can prove it to you."

"And that is just what I am here to do!" Fudge declared, whipping the lime green bowler off of his head. "I am here to bring you before the Wizengamot to stand trial for treasonous and traitorous acts against the entire wizarding world!"

Dumbledore shook his head in an amused way, stepping in front of Harry to keep Fudge's attention. "That's just like you, Cornelius," the headmaster commented, a laugh hidden in his voice. "Always making a big deal out of the things that don't really matter."

"Don't really matter!" Fudge gasped, and then scoffed. "How can you suggest that this doesn't matter, Dumbledore?"

"This does not matter because I—as well as every other teacher here at Hogwarts—am fully convinced of this boy's identity as Harry James Potter. You should know of my skills with Legilimency better than to doubt me, Cornelius." Dumbledore looked reproachfully down his long, crooked nose at Fudge before moving to take a seat at his desk. "As to this business of brining Harry before the Wizengamot, I assure you that this is quite impossible."

"Nothing is impossible, Dumbledore!"

"Quite true," Dumbledore said approvingly, nodding his head gently. "What I should have said is that the situation is quite _improbable_. You see, Harry—whether or not that is his true identity—is currently enrolled at Hogwarts. To take him to the Wizengamot _now_ would interrupt his lessons."

"It has been done before!" Fudge sputtered angrily, his face turning a shade of purple that reminded Harry vividly of his Uncle Vernon.

"Yes, it has been done before. However, you are also forgetting that the entire Wizengamot has to be assembled for any hearings to take place."

"What of it, Dumbledore?"

"Am I not the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses.

Fudge looked absolutely furious. "As I am sure you are aware, Dumbledore, the Minister of Magic—namely, me—has the ability to force members of the Wizengamot to convene?"

Dumbledore gave a soft smile that barely showed through his beard. "And as I am sure _you_ are aware of, Cornelius, members of the Wizengamot do not have to convene if one or more of said members are currently suffering from health problems."

"You look perfectly healthy to me."

"My ailment is not one of a physical nature, Cornelius; it's more of a torture of soul."

"I will be needing evidence of this 'torture of soul'."

"Ah," sighed Dumbledore, leaning back in his chair. "That is between me and my Pensieve, Cornelius. You are welcome to it, of course—if you are quite certain that you could sort through all of the memories I have collected within it in the past one hundred and fifty years." Dumbledore smiled cordially at Fudge's negative response to such a suggestion.

"'Tortures of soul' do _not_ count as health problems, Dumbledore!" Cornelius insisted when he had collected his thoughts.

Dumbledore simply looked at the whining adult before him and responded as he would to a student: "Of course they do, Cornelius. You see, there are four different types of health: the most-often-referred-to being physical; mental; emotional; social." As Dumbledore said each word, Harry watched Fudge's reaction become increasingly angry.

"Fine then!" the Minister shouted. "When _can_ the boy come to trial?"

Dumbledore looked thoughtfully at Harry, his distant gaze revealing to the student that his mind was reeling through some plan he had concocted. "I think my emotional duress should end sometime during the Christmas holidays," the headmaster said in a thoughtful tone. "I will bring Harry before the Wizengamot at that time."

Harry tried not to let his surprise and disappointment show on his face; he had thought Dumbledore was going to get him out of this! He shouldn't be going to trial just because of a stupid mistake he'd made trying to fit in at school! That wasn't fair! Surely Dumbledore knew this. But if so, then why was he consenting to bring Harry before the Wizengamot—something Ron had explained was something along the lines of a wizarding Supreme Court? What was Dumbledore thinking?

A bang jerked Harry out of his thoughts; Fudge had left Dumbledore's office, apparently slamming the door behind him.

"I think you had better be getting back to class, Harry." Harry looked back at Professor Dumbledore, wanting to ask him all of the confusing questions that were flying through his head. The exhausted look on Dumbledore's face, however, changed Harry's mind. Maybe his emotional health issues were more real than Dumbledore had let on? But that didn't seem possible, not for Dumbledore. Nevertheless, Harry nodded and left the office.

When Harry explained what had happened to Ron and Hermione at lunch, all three students had a good time loudly expressing their indignation at the situation. Even Malfoy, hearing bits of what was going on at the Gryffindor table, came over to voice his opinion.

"Well, you can't really blame him, can you?" Malfoy drawled, standing behind and between Harry and Ron. "He's only looking out for what he thinks is the good of the wizarding world."

"But did he have to shake me like that?" Harry countered.

Hermione agreed with Harry. "I don't think Fudge was looking out for the wizarding world; I think he was looking out for himself. From what Harry tells us, it seems to me like Cornelius Fudge is an arrogant prat who only wants to look good in front of the people who will be choosing whether to re-elect him next term."

"And he's not a nice man!" Ron added, causing everyone to look sadly in his direction until he explained. "Dad works at the Ministry, remember? Well, every other time I've met Fudge, he's always been 'too busy' to talk to Dad. And yet he _always_ has time to talk to people like—," Ron hesitated, looking cautiously up at Malfoy. "People with the money to pay for the time to talk."

Malfoy's face darkened. "Like my father, you mean?" he said angrily. "I know what you were going to say: 'people like Lucius Malfoy'. Isn't that right, Weasley?"

"Yes?" The entire group turned to look at the sources of the voices that had simultaneously responded to Malfoy's accusation: Fred and George.

"This has got nothing to do with you!" Malfoy said quickly, looking as if he regretted leaving Crabbe and Goyle back at the Slytherin table.

"Oh, I think it does," Fred said, coming over to sling an arm over a disgusted Malfoy's shoulders. "You were accusing my little brother of doing something, weren't you, Malfoy m'boy?"

Malfoy didn't respond. Instead, he picked up Fred's arm between two of his fingers and dropped it, looking as if he had just removed a spider contaminated with the Black Plague.

"And when you accuse one Weasley of something," George continued for Fred, "you accuse all of us."

"Except for when it comes to us two," Fred took up the thread again, this time with a smile. "We're special."

"Most certainly," Malfoy grumbled.

"What's that?" George asked, holding a hand up to his ear to act as if he was deaf.

Malfoy shook his head in a disgusted manner and retreated back to the Slytherin table to eat, leaving the Gryffindors alone for now. Harry filled Fred and George in on what had taken place in Dumbledore's office. When he finished, Fred and George whistled simultaneously.

"A trial," they said together, amazed.

"For your sake, Harry," Fred said, clapping a hand on Harry's shoulder, "I hope the news doesn't get out."

"It certainly won't make you much more popular than you are now," George added.

A thick parcel sent Hermione's lunch flying into her face—a barn owl had dropped a special edition of the Daily Prophet onto her afternoon meal. While Hermione picked bits of ham and cheese out of her hair, Harry and Ron opened the newspaper and read the article on the front page:

_**Harry Potter Imposter on Trial  
**In response to the alarming number of parental complaints to the attendance of  
Harry Potter look-alike Jonathan Falso at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,  
Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge has demanded that the child be put on trial before the  
entire Wizengamot. Apparently having met with the boy and the school headmaster,  
Albus Dumbledore, earlier this morning, Fudge says that he is feeling optimistic about  
the upcoming trial, which won't be held until late December.   
"We've got a firm case built up against this Jonathan Falso," says Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge. "I'm confident that we can convict young Mr. Falso and send  
him to Azkaban for a while, teach him a lesson he wasn't taught at home and can't be  
taught at any school."   
Some, like Albus Dumbledore himself, are in outrage as the possibility of sending  
a child to Azkaban for an offense they claim is one of minimal, if not none, importance  
whatsoever. "This is the true Harry Potter," Dumbledore says. "I have spoken with the  
boy myself, and am fully convinced that this is Harry Potter, and that Cornelius is  
making a humongous mistake. Even if the Wizengamot does find Harry guilty of these  
ridiculous charges, it is preposterous that the Minister of Magic could ever consider  
sending a child to Azkaban."   
Another wizard protesting the trial is one Arthur Weasley of the Misuse of Muggle  
Artifacts Office at the Ministry of Magic. "My son Ronald has become best friends with  
Harry Potter," Mr. Weasley claims. "I know my Ron would have a hard time believing  
anyone was Harry Potter if they didn't have the signature lightning-bolt scar, so I know  
that this boy is not an imposter. I trust my son, and I trust his friend Harry Potter as  
well."   
While the Minister refused to comment on the many protesters, he did say that  
he believed that the competent witches and wizards that make up the Wizengamot would  
reach a fair and just decision. _

_-Rita Skeeter,  
Reporter for the Daily Prophet_

Harry shredded the newspaper, causing Hermione to protest that she had wanted to read the article as well.

"Trust me," Harry assured her, angrily stabbing at his sandwich. "It would only make you upset, and you wouldn't want to risk a foul mood in Charms today, would you?"

Hermione's face suddenly brightened when she remembered, "Oh yes, that's right! We're doing Giggling Charms today!"

While talk between Ron and Hermione returned to normal, Harry looked up at the enchanted ceiling. Right now the ceiling showed the first snowflakes of the season drifting down, disappearing where the spell ended at the bottom of the candle chandeliers in the Great Hall. November would be turning into December very shortly, and December brought Christmas along with it. While Harry would normally be ecstatic at the thought of the Christmas holidays, now he dreaded the reprieve on schoolwork; this year the holidays would bring with it a trial in which Harry's only evidence would be his testimony—and what good would that be when no one believed him in the first place?


	7. Prove it

Christmas came and went with surprising speed. On December 28th, Dumbledore announced to Harry that he thought his emotional turmoil was at an end, and that they were leaving that night for the Ministry of Magic.

"_What?_" Harry gasped when Dumbledore told him this news. "But sir! I thought you had tortures of soul that needed—!"

"Oh, I assure you Harry," Dumbledore said, smiling, "those tortures of soul are no more than unpleasant memories in my Pensieve now. Be ready to leave at seven o'clock tonight."

Now, at six thirty, Harry went around to all of the people he had become somewhat close to since arriving at Hogwarts. First he gathered Ron and Hermione around him and told them that he was leaving, and probably not coming back.

"That's a load of rubbish, Harry, and you know it!" Hermione chastised. "You'll be coming back tonight, triumphant from a Wizengamot victory. It'll be the talk of the school all day tomorrow: there is no Jonathan Falso at Hogwarts, only Harry Potter."

Harry turned to look at Ron, who wasn't meeting his eyes. Harry knew that Ron agreed with him. Neither boy thought Harry was going to be returning to Hogwarts for some time. Ron cleared his throat.

"It was nice getting to know you, mate," Ron said, extending a hand to shake with Harry. Harry took the hand, but the shake only lasted a few moments before Hermione bowled over the two boys, hugging them both with tears streaming down her face.

The next person Harry went to see was Draco, who was sending an owl off in the owlry when Harry finally managed to find him.

"Just writing to my father," Draco explained. "Had to thank him for the Christmas gifts and everything. So what's going on? Why so melancholy?"

Harry stuffed his hands into his pockets, not sure he should even be saying good-bye to Draco. It's not like they were full-fledged _friends_ or anything. But Draco had been one of the only people to believe Harry about his identity, and Harry wanted to thank him, at least.

"I'm going to trial tonight," Harry finally managed, taking his hands out of his pockets to lock them firmly behind his back. He wanted to look at least a little brave about what was going to happen tonight. "Remember, from last month? Dumbledore's tortures of soul are better now, so we're leaving in a few minutes to go before the Wizengamot."

Draco nodded, his lips pursed. "What are the charges again?" he asked, a slightly sarcastic tone hidden in his voice. "Impersonating a celebrity, right?"

Harry nodded, smiling at the injustice of it all.

Draco shrugged. "I think you'll be fine. As long as the wizards on the Wizangamot aren't easily bought…"

Harry stared at Draco, not quite believing what he had just heard. "What do you mean, 'easily bought'?"

Now it was Draco's turn to look uncomfortable. He ran a hand through his blonde hair, looking anywhere but at Harry. "It's my father…" he said slowly, pausing to clear his throat. "He has a lot of influence at the Ministry, and he's… well, he's never really believed that you're really Harry Potter. So he's bribed the Minister, and the members of the Wizengamot, into pulling this trial together."

Harry stared at Draco. "Your father is the reason why I'm going to trial?"

Draco shrugged. "Why else do you think the Wizengamot is taking such a stupid case? Come on: you're being put on trial for making a fool of the entire wizarding world. And while I'm sure that won't look good on any future job applications, I'm pretty sure it's not against the law."

Harry forgot about appreciation. He forgot about friendship. Right there, he turned his back on Draco Malfoy and went to look for the last person he wanted to say good-bye to: Hagrid.

Hagrid's hut was dark and empty. Harry couldn't find the gamekeeper by the lake, in the castle, or on the Quidditch pitch. Not noticing what time it was, Harry was surprised when Dumbledore finally came to take him to the Ministry of Magic, reminding Harry that he had been supposed to meet the headmaster at seven; it was now 7:15.

"Now, Harry," Dumbledore said after gently scolding Harry on the importance of promptness, "have you ever performed side-along Apparition?"

"Erm, no sir."

Dumbledore took hold of Harry's hand, and before Harry knew it he was feeling like someone was trying to squeeze him through a funnel. Just when he didn't think his body could take much more abuse, the feeling stopped, and Harry found himself in front of a fountain with bronze figures of magical creatures.

"This way, Harry." Harry followed Dumbledore through the hallways of the Ministry of Magic, taking an elevator up to the top floor. Many doors stood on each side of the hallway that Dumbledore led Harry into when they left the elevator, but Dumbledore took Harry to one near the far side of the hall, fifth from the end.

"Ah, good, you're here," Harry heard Cornelius Fudge say smugly when he and Dumbledore entered the room. "I was beginning to think you would never show up, Albus."

"You should know me better than that by now, Cornelius."

"Well, you never know," Fudge replied coolly. "For all we know, your tortures of soul could have been causing you to have a psychotic breakdown or something."

Dumbledore smiled up at Fudge and the numerous witches and wizards seated at the floating podium. "How kind of you to worry," he said lightly.

A moment of silence ensued, during which Fudge glared down at Dumbledore from his high-backed armchair. Finally, the Minister cleared his throat and began: "Now, on to business—."

"Yes, on to business," Dumbledore interrupted. "I will be acting as Harry's adult representation, since at the current time I am his headmaster, therefore his temporary legal guardian."

A loud pounding sound brought Harry's attention back to the Minister of Magic, who had slammed his fist down on the podium in front of him. "Dumbledore! You cannot be the boy's representation because you are a member of the Wizengamot yourself!"

"However," Dumbledore began in a gentle voice that told Harry that the headmaster was about to contradict the childlike Minister, "the code of the Wizengamot states that, in a case in which a Wizengamot member has also been called to be a child's adult representation, then the parental duties are to come first."

Fudge looked livid. "You have not been called to be the boy's representative, therefore you are to serve on the Wizengamot!"

"Did I say that the member had to be called by the Minister?" Dumbledore recalled, looking 100 respectful in the way that he was talking to the Minister; no trace of insolence was hidden in his voice. "I meant to say that if the member was called by _duty_. Surely none of us here can disprove that it is my duty, as the headmaster of Hogwarts, to represent the student that is currently entrusted into my care by his aunt and uncle?"

Harry saw all of the witches and wizards around Fudge—members of the Wizengamot—nodding in agreement with Dumbledore. The Minister, on the other hand, looked like he could strike the headmaster. However, Fudge had no other choice but to allow Dumbledore to continue as Harry's adult representative, as all of the other Wizengamot members agreed with Dumbledore.

"Jonathan Conor Falso, you have been summoned before the Wizengamot today to be brought before justice, under the charges of impersonating an international hero." The words sounded wooden as the Minister read them off a long roll of parchment. "How do you plead?"

"Erm." Harry hadn't been expecting the Wizengamot to actually ask him if _he_ thought he was guilty or not. "Innocent."

"Not guilty, Harry," Dumbledore corrected gently. "No one is completely innocent; you are simply not guilty of this particular crime."

"Sure." Confused, Harry looked back up at the Wizengamot. "Not guilty, then. And my name's not Jonathan Conor Falso; it's Harry James Potter."

"Does the adult representative have any opening statements?" Fudge asked, still reading off of the roll of parchment.

Dumbledore smiled. "None whatsoever, Cornelius."

"Very well, then. Does the accused have any opening statements?"

"Yeah." Harry surprised himself when the word left his lips, and it apparently shocked the Wizengamot as well; every single one of the witches and wizards had turned to look at Harry with stunned expressions. Harry supposed that most of the people who entered this room to be prosecuted were either too scared or too intimidated to speak up for themselves. "How much money did Mr. Malfoy pay you to do this?"

There was a sharp intake of breath in reaction to Harry's words. Even Dumbledore looked warningly down at Harry from behind his half-moon glasses. Still, Harry continued.

"I have never heard of a law, either magical or Muggle, that says that a person can't tell the truth. I _am_ Harry Potter. I made a stupid mistake at the beginning of the year, and now I could be sent to Azkaban for it. The only crime I think I've committed is vanity!"

"Mr. Falso—."

"_Potter! My name is Harry Potter!_"

"MR. FALSO!" Harry didn't insist on his name this time; the fury in the Minister's voice was too intimidating to counter. Now Fudge said, through gritted teeth, "You have just accused every member of the Wizengamot of taking bribes. That is a major insult to us all. Tell me why I should not throw you out right this instant."

Harry looked around the room, trying for one last attack. When he turned back to the witches and wizards of the Wizengamot, Harry shrugged. "Feel free to throw Jonathan Falso out," Harry said lightly, spreading his hands carelessly. "Personally, I don't see him anywhere…"

"_Harry_." Harry looked into Dumbledore's eyes; the eyes behind the half-moon lenses were warning him not to continue. Harry closed his mouth, hoping Dumbledore had a plan to get him out of this.

Dumbledore approached the floating podium of the Wizengamot, nodding his head respectfully. "I beg you to present your first piece of evidence, Minister."

Fudge took a whole minute to make sure that the room was silent, and probably to assert his authority, Harry thought. When the minute was over, Fudge leaned back in his chair, pointing to Harry's forehead.

"As everyone knows, the night that Lily and James Potter were killed, one-year-old Harry Potter defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The child did so, with only a scar to show for his success. That lightning-bolt shaped scar has always been the trademark symbol of the young hero, and as everyone in this room can see: this boy does not have such a scar."

Harry nearly jumped up to that podium—he would have somehow figured out how to jump fifteen feet!—and strangled the Minister. As it was, he had to settle for yelling furiously, "I _am_ Harry Potter! Tell me how I can prove it to you!"

"But you haven't got a scar!" one witch near the end of the podium pointed out.

"I _had_ a scar!" Harry said, giving the woman a hard glare.

One wizard seated next to Fudge actually rolled his eyes at Harry, saying, "You don't have one now."

Harry turned to this wizard and rolled his own eyes, just to be insolent. "I got rid of it," he explained.

"Come on, who are you really?" another wizard said, sitting about an eighth of the way down the podium.

"I'm Harry Potter!" Harry yelled.

"I believe," Dumbledore said softly, causing the heated tempers in the room to simmer down a bit, "that it is time for the defense to present evidence."

The door into the room opened, admitting a large object covered in a sheet and being pushed along by a gigantic, hairy man: Hagrid. Hagrid brought the covered object into the center of the room and left, waving a frantic good-bye to Harry before shutting the door completely.

Dumbledore strode over to the covered object. "I present to everyone present: the Mirror of Erised." With that, Dumbledore pulled off the sheet with a flourish, revealing a beautifully crafted, golden mirror with runes engraved at the top. "As I am sure the members of the Wizengamot are aware, this mirror shows the viewer their deepest desires. On rare occasions, though, the mirror can give the desire to the viewer. While this occurrence is very rare—I believe it has only happened twice in its multicentennial existence—it is not unknown."

Even though Dumbledore appeared to be addressing the Wizengamot, Harry had a feeling that Dumbledore was shouting in his ear, "_Hint hint! Wink wink!_" Harry took note of this conversation for future reference, wondering when this information would ever come in handy after today.

"Harry?" Harry realized that his mind had gone off on a tangent, and that Dumbledore was now gesturing for him to step forward to look into the enchanted mirror.

Harry did as he was bade, stepping dutifully forward. He raised his eyes to the cool, smooth surface of the mirror and saw:

Himself. Harry James Potter, messy black hair, bright bottle green eyes, Hogwarts robes in Gryffindor colors. Just Harry, but with one difference: there was a lightning-bolt-shaped scar on his forehead.

Suddenly, Harry bent double; there was an excruciating pain in his forehead, as if someone was trying to rip his head right down the middle. Harry clutched at his forehead in pain, his eyes scrunched up as he cried out.

_"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! I'll hold him off—!"_

_There was the sound of someone crying and stumbling out of the room, but then a door burst open somewhere. There was a cackle of high-pitched laughter, and then…_

_"AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

In the Wizangamot chambers, Harry's green eyes flashed an even brighter green for just a moment.

_Then there was the sound of weeping, and a woman pleading: "Not Harry! Not Harry! Please—I'll do anything—!"_

_"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"_

_"Please! Don't kill Harry!"_

_"STAND ASIDE, WOMAN!"_

_"PLEASE DON'T KILL MY SON!"_

_"AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

Harry's eyes flashed brilliantly green once again before the whole world—both the one that he was hearing and the one he was seeing, in which a dozen witches and wizards were bending over him with worried expressions—went black, and Harry neither heard nor saw anything more.

* * *

_Author's Note: I would like to give credit to the dementors and patronuses of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban for giving Harry the visions that helped me to write the dialogue that Harry hears in this chapter. As usual, everything belongs to JK Rowling, except for those things that are, of course, all mine!_

_Thanks to all of you who have been reading and keeping up with this fic! I know it's difficult to imagine a scar-less Harry (even my Lit teacher said "Well, no one's reading your fanfiction because the lightning-bolt scar is part of what makes Harry, Harry!" (at first I wasn't getting much of a response to this fic...)) but I thought that the concept would be interesting to play around with. For all of you who are wondering: this fic will not continue all the way through Hogwarts. I don't have the time, patience, or the ability to sit around copying text from the books all day. I might do a onefic based on this story later, though... my friend gave me an idea for it, so as soon as this fic is completed, keep an eye out!_


	8. Now do you believe me?

_Author's Note: Merry Christmas to everyone! I know I haven't been the best updater person, but I have been in a bit of a writer's block lately so I apologize not only for the lateness of this chapter, but for the crappiness of this chapter. However, in honor of the holidays, I have decided to update all of my fanfictions (except for the oneshot)! It is my Christmas gift to my readers! And for those of you who do not celebrate Christmas or are not Christian: too bad! I am Christian, therefore I shall bid you a Merry Christmas because that is part of my religion. Political correctness is a pain in the hindquarters so I am not going to bother. If you are not Christian or do not celebrate Christmas, just assume that I went through all of the diplomatically required salutations and have a nice day. These are my opinions, and if you have a problem with them you can just review and open up the huge can of worms when you discover you've gotten yourself into a political debate with me. Republicans rock, and George W. Bush has done a great job. Merry Christmas and GOD BLESS AMERICA!_

_God bless all of the other countries too, but America is my favorite!_

_And now you are all free to yell at me for my undiplomatic and unneccessary author's note, and for the crappiness of this chapter.

* * *

_

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! I'll hold him off—!"

_There was the sound of someone crying and stumbling out of the room, but then a door burst open somewhere. There was a cackle of high-pitched laughter, and then…_

_"AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

In the Wizengamot chambers, Harry's green eyes flashed an even brighter green for just a moment.

_Then there was the sound of weeping, and a woman pleading: "Not Harry! Not Harry! Please—I'll do anything—!"_

_"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"_

_"Please! Don't kill Harry!"_

_"STAND ASIDE, WOMAN!"_

_"PLEASE DON'T KILL MY SON!"_

_"AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

Harry's eyes flashed brilliantly green once again before the whole world—both the one that he was hearing and the one he was seeing, in which a dozen witches and wizards were bending over him with worried expressions—went black, and Harry neither heard nor saw anything more.

* * *

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ MERRY CHRISTMAS/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

* * *

"So does this mean he really was Harry Potter this whole time?"

"But how did it get there? It wasn't there before!"

"Did Dumbledore bewitch him to make it appear?"

"That is quite enough, Mr. Macmillan. Harry, wake up and open your eyes." Harry immediately opened his eyes to Dumbledore's request, tired of pretending to be passed out. His forehead was burning as if someone had branded it with a hot iron.

As soon as Harry opened his eyes, he shut them again. He'd forgotten just how bright sunlight was!

"Come now, Mr. Potter. Open your eyes."

This time Harry squinted, allowing his eyes to slowly adjust to the light. He was surrounded by what looked like the entire school, everyone looking at his forehead. Harry felt someone thrust his glasses into his hands, and he put them on. Dumbledore was seated on the edge of his bed, looking down at him. Everyone else was standing a good three feet off, except for Ron and Hermione, who were standing by the bed on either side.

Rubbing his forehead, Harry asked, "What happened? Where are we? This doesn't look like the Wizengamot chambers…"

Dumbledore gave a soft laugh. "No, this is not the Wizengamot chambers. This is the Hogwarts hospital wing. I brought you here after I managed to convince Mr. Fudge that you are Harry Potter, and that your scar is not an illusion that I created."

"My scar?" Harry stopped rubbing his forehead and felt around. Sure enough, there were the slightly raised lines that had been there every day of Harry's life before he had found Nutriderm Plus. Dumbledore conjured a mirror and gave it to him: Harry saw, in this totally normal mirror, a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt right in the middle of his forehead.

"Bloody hell…" murmured Harry.

"Hey! That's my line!"

"Sorry, Ron."

"Bloody hell!"

"Are you happy now?"

"Very."

Harry looked back into the mirror, fingering the scar as if he was afraid it would randomly disappear on him.

"How did you do it?" Harry asked Dumbledore.

Dumbledore smiled. "Like I said: the Mirror of Erised sometimes—rarely—gives the viewer their deepest desire. That desire has to be not for a material possession, but for something that cannot be gained by monetary or skillful means. In this case, you did not want your scar; what you truly wanted, Harry, was your _identity_."

Harry sat up, excited. "So if I looked into the mirror now, would my parents come back?"

Dumbledore's smile faded slightly, but he replied firmly. "No, Harry. Nothing can bring the dead back to life." Dumbledore stood, stretching his arms exaggeratedly. "And now, if you don't have any more questions, I shall take my leave of you."

Harry watched Dumbledore go, but just before the headmaster could leave the hospital wing, he called out, "Wait! What happened at the Wizangamot? Am I allowed to stay at Hogwarts?"

Dumbledore turned back, his smile fully restored. He responded in an amused tone, "Did I not just tell you that I brought you here after convincing Cornelius that you really are Harry Potter? Of course you are staying at Hogwarts." And with that the headmaster left.

Harry sank back into the pillows on his cot, suddenly uncomfortable with all of the people staring openly at his forehead. He flattened his bangs over the observed area, hoping to draw attention away from the spot, but still everyone stared at the newly returned scar as if it was something out of a fairy tale.

_Stupid scar,_ Harry thought, wishing it would just go away for this one moment.


	9. Oh my god, he really is Harry Potter!

"What's wrong with all of the girls?" Harry asked, watching Parvati and Lavender run through the corridor in a fit of giggles and incomprehensible screeches. "It's like they're all on emotional steroids or something!"

Ron gave Harry a sideways glance. "Emotional _what?_"

"They're not on steroids, Harry," Hermione said, ignoring Ron completely. "They're just being girls."

"But they never acted like that before!" exclaimed Harry.

Ron just scowled. "Is anyone going to tell me what steroids are?"

Hermione brushed some of her bushy hair out of her face. "They never acted like that before because you weren't famous before."

"But I'm still the same person!"

"Not to them. Before, they thought you were just Jonathan Falso, the biggest con since Peter the Plunderer. Now you're Harry Potter, and they all know that! _That's_ why all of the girls are so giggly, and _that's_ why all of the boys now want to be your best mate."

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE STEROIDS?"

"What about the Slytherins? None of them seem to like me much anymore. Even Draco steers clear of me now."

"That's because they're _Slytherins. You're_ Harry Potter, which means _you_ defeated You-Know-Who. Slytherins traditionally go evil, so the fact that you're you makes you their enemy."

"I'm lost."

"WILL YOU PLEASE TELL ME WHAT STEROIDS ARE?"

Hermione shook her head, a small smile of satisfaction creeping across her face. "You're both hopeless."

Ron clenched his fists, his face almost as red as his hair. "I WOULDN'T BE HOPELESS IF YOU TOLD ME WHAT STEROIDS ARE!"

"No, Ron," laughed Hermione. "You'd still be hopeless."

* * *

_Hey, I'm sorry I had to end my fanfiction this way. I tried to come up with something better, but lots of things have come up, including the loss of my SAT Prep class, which is when I wrote most of the chapters for the rest of this fic. Since I'm not in that class anymore and now have all of the classes that I really do have to pay attention to (my school is on a block schedule, so we take four classes per semester instead of eight classes all year round), I don't have as much time to write as I used to. However, I am going to write a onefic based off of this fanfiction (the idea of Harry not having a scar and all) where Harry and Voldemort are in the graveyard in book four, but Harry doesn't have his scar, so watch out for another one of these from me. _

_Please review the whole story. Again, I'm sorry this chapter is both so short and so crappy. I meant to have more with Malfoy, but it's really hard to write a NICE Malfoy after reading HBP._


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